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THE TALENTS 



BY 

MARTHA MORLEY STEWART 



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CHICAGO 

PRIVATELY PRINTED 

1918 









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Revised Copyright, J 920 bv 
Martha Morley Stewart 






CHICAGO 

PRINTING a EMBOSS.N< 

COMPANY 



JAN --^ 1821 



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THE TALENTS 

[ITH wistful eyes an old man gazed 
At shifting hues, when sunset hazed 
In purple clouds as a vision rare. 

Where royal souls with the needy share. 
He sensed his muse, he caught his pen. 

He called the gift that inspires men. 
An Angel came, disguised in thought. 

Scribe and interpreter, holy taught. 
Together wrote a pastoral play. 

Where multitudes passed on life's highway. 
Its lessons brought him praises free. 

He touched the hearts of humanity. 

The Artist at his easel stands 
With brush and palette in his .hands. 

Portraying the work of a master-mind 
That only comes through a Gift divined. 

Through hours of patient work he wrought 
A lost production of art long sought, 

[5] 



Depicting a touching story of Man 

Amazing in its lifelike plan- 
God's own handiwork evident there. 

As gifted and Giver together share. 

The Sculptor works on an ivory pile. 

His task the hardest of all the while- 
Chiseling features idealized. 

Expressing life as realized: 
The small, arched foot, the beautiful hands. 

Coils of hair in wavy strands. 
Lips half parted to breathe a note. 

Shoulders aslope from the slender throat, 
Pygmalion sentiments infused so rife 

The statue s bosom pulsed with life. 

High in art, the Musician came. 

His impassioned soul with song aflame. 
No pen, no brush, or chisel fine-- 

His ladder made of sounds sublime. 
If he would tune his lute aright 

His soul must touch the infinite— 
His sweetest, purest songs of love 

Are caught from choristers above. 

[7] 



The petaled rose perfume expressed. 

The lily emblem, music-blessed; 
The whispVing winds and raindrops call 

Each other through the waterfall- 
Music attunes the soul of earth 
With the Divine who gave it birth. 

Through the city gate a kingly man 
Jostled his way with many a clan. 
Where no grass grew, for the feet of men 

Had paved the path where grass had been. 
His costly cloak by the passers-by 

Was often viewed with a jealous eye. 
Glitter and splendor and wonderment- 

The high road's end his one intent. 
The golden key and magic wand. 

Companions ever, in his hand. 
No restful hours till darkened sun, 

A long day's march ere his day is done. 
He murmured not, for the passer-by 

Had named him Joy-he knew not why; 
They whispered oft, when he drew near, 

Half-wonderingly, **theRnancier." 



[9] 



But a murmur rose in the crowded mart: 

The kingly man must act his part. 
His quick eye searched for a kindly face— 

No friendly hand in all that place, 
E en while the crowd his way did press 

He felt a sense of loneliness. 
His soul would speak, yet his lips were mute. 

For he could not quell the loud dispute. 
Ere he had felt the last despair, 

A face and hand appeared, most fair. 
Theliand made silence: the Judge of alt 

Stood in theu: midst. Obeying his call 
As Master, they followed where he led. 

The selfsame path that all shall tread 
Into a palace of wondrous light. 

With fluted columns high and white: 
Beautiful paintings hong on the walls. 

Master-hands had wrought them all: 
Fabulous tapestries whose patterns told 

Of life's long diligence, paid with gold; 
Where'er the eye could look, perchance. 

Naught was there save elegance. 
The air was laden with perfume 

Music had brought from the flowers' bloom. 

[11] 



Fountains bubbled with Spring-like showers. 
Like cadenced music from woodland bowers. 

Song-birds warbled, and every note 
Harmonized with the shepherd's flute. 

Happy children played all day 
In gardens cool with flowers gay. 

Then the Master touched the kingly man. 
Who humbly stood amidst his clan. 

His costly cloak, invisibly rent— 
His countenance showed a life well spent 

His brow was damp, his lips showed pain. 
His shoes were old with travel-stain. 

Clothing faded from the heat of the sun 

Through the long days' march till his work 
was done. 
His tragic life concealed from men. 

The toll he paid was the strife within. 
His gift with theirs in the palace rare 

Was the gift of God which all will share. 

As the dawn of day 's like the birth of man. 

So night shall end his mortal span; 
And through one valley way must pass 

Life's cortege, singly or en masse. 

[13] 



But God has made one •*Harbor Bar," 

Beyond its portals each finds his star. 
Tis not of silver nor of gold, 

Tis not some jewel, rare and old: 
Tis made from talents that aspire 

Through toil and pain and trial's fire: 
Through sacrifice of earthly wealth, 

Forgetfulness ofttimes of self; 
Sharing the crust and the water cup. 

The bruised and helpless lifting up; 
Feeling each pang life's sorrows bring. 

Till wells of sympathy upspring 
As living waters in thy breast. 

Soothing some thirsting soul to rest; 
Thy talents used an hundredfold-* 

These are thy stars, more bright than gold. 



[15] 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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